


all my friends are heathens, take it slow

by bideru



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Anger, F/M, One major OC - Freeform, POV Multiple, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, cool bending bros, ghazan was a sandbender fight me, i fucking love the red lotus, prison is a time for reflection, probably lots of angst lbr it's me here, the white lotus commits war crimes, thi yen (oc) is an attempt to inject some vietnamese representation, zaheer and ghazan have a bromance, zaheer is a chi blocker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bideru/pseuds/bideru
Summary: A look into the lives of the Red Lotus, all that they were and everything they became. Many have died for the cause and others... Well. Others start a revolution.
Relationships: Ghazan/Ming-Hua (Avatar), P'li/Zaheer (Avatar)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. Heathens

**Author's Note:**

> The Red Lotus are my favorite villains in the entire Avatar universe. This fic has been sitting in the back of my mind since TLOK came on Netflix, and then I saw an amv (that I CAN'T FIND AGAIN GRRR) set to the song the fic takes its title from and found myself humming it, which brought the Red Lotus back into my head all over again. I just need the song to stoooop. (But also, if you know the amv, please omg link it, I need it back.)
> 
> (We're going to ignore how I should be working on my other fics.)
> 
> Thi Yen is pronounced "tee yen."

“Take the Avatar and go! I’ll hold them off!”

There wasn’t much time to argue. Zaheer nodded once, the motion saying what he could not, and shifted the Avatar higher on his shoulder. With P’Li and Ming Hua sniping and Ghazan picking off anyone who got close, they wouldn’t need his chi blocking abilities, but he stayed close to P’Li anyway. Just in case. 

“Go in peace,” he said solemnly and after briefly catching the combustionbender’s eye, made a break for it.

“Give them hell, Thi Yen!” P’Li called over her shoulder. 

Ghazan stood his ground for the briefest of moments, the wind whipping his long hair and stinging his eyes. They’d chosen this night for its terrible storm, and Ghazan no longer knew what was weather and what was bending anymore. Thi Yen looked so small there, hair wild where it had escaped its ties, her eyes bright. Too bright. One bender against the Fire Lord and his dragon, the last airbender, and all the White Lotus...

“Ghazan!” Ming Hua had to scream to be heard above the storm. “Let’s move it!” 

“Go!” Thi Yen wasn’t looking at him, had planted her feet and shifted her center of gravity low. The air felt charged, crackling and raw as she lifted one hand, two fingers pointed skyward. Ming Hua took a step back, shrinking from the display. She had always been wary of lightning. 

Ghazan set his jaw. There was no time for goodbyes, no time for anything. 

“Fry ‘em good, girl!” he shouted, and then he was running. Away from Thi Yen, away from the storm, past Ming Hua towards the ice tunnel. He skidded and slid down with a soft thud, and Ming Hua popped in after him, sealing the tunnel shut with a grunt. With the cover of the storm, enough snow should cover it from the outside as to render them invisible. 

P’Li and Zaheer were up ahead, a flicker of flame in P’Li’s hand. Ghazan forced himself to focus. There were no guarantees in the Red Lotus ﹣ no mourners and no funerals. One of them had to stay behind, had to buy them time. He didn’t have time to be angry that Unalaq had bowed out ﹣ Thi Yen had stepped up, and they had a job to do.

“Let’s go,” said Zaheer. 

The ice silenced the fight above, and no one spoke. The tunnel was a long one, painstakingly hollowed out by Ming Hua the night before. He’d felt bad, as she worked. It was all ice; he couldn’t bend anything to help. Thi Yen and P’Li had helped where they could, but mostly Ming Hua had worked in silence, cursing every so often. She was always like that. Liked to vent her feelings in her bending. 

Hey, whatever worked.

The trek back to the boat wasn’t nearly as long as their journey last night. Ghazan found himself staring at the child slung over Zaheer’s shoulder. Was she really the Avatar? He’d heard stories of Avatar Aang, and she didn’t look like him. Well, he supposed she wouldn’t, would she? Reincarnation didn’t work like that. But still. She was just a little girl.

“Are we there yet?” he groused, to fill the silence. 

“Almost.” The word came quietly, a warning. Zaheer was angry. They never should have roused the White Lotus. If Unalaq had been there, maybe they wouldn’t have. 

Ghazan was going to kick his ass when he saw the waterbender next. 

The wind had died down as they came upon their boat, dragged into the tunnel just at the entrance, as Ming Hua shifted the packed snow out of the way. Ghazan seized one side and P’Li the other, and together they slid the boat back into the water. Zaheer passed him the Avatar ﹣ she was shivering in her unconsciousness, clad only in her pajamas. Ghazan tucked her into his coat. 

“We don’t wait,” the chi blocker murmured, eyes scanning the cliffs above. As if Thi Yen would suddenly come flying over the edge, and they could sail back to their ship the way they’d come. They couldn’t wait. They had no time. He was the last to climb in, stepping around Ming Hua, who quietly used her bending to cast off. One water arm in the sea served as the rudder. 

Thi Yen would be alright. She’d gotten out of worse scrapes than this. No one stood a chance against the lightning.

“We leave as soon as we get back to the ship,” Zaheer said. “Thi Yen will find her own way back.” 

_If she isn’t captured,_ Ghazan thought. _Or killed._ He didn’t voice the thought out loud. 

They knew the risks. They had lost so many good people over the years. Meiling, Isuzu, Chu, Yao… Theirs was a dangerous game. Assassination usually was. 

But they weren’t assassinating the Avatar. No, Zaheer had had a plan to kidnap her, to _raise_ her with the ideals of the Red Lotus. To use her godly powers in toppling oppressive governments and uniting the physical and spirit worlds. It had been an admittedly brilliant idea, if only a pipe dream. Something murmured wistfully long ago, scowling at the headlines of Avatar Aang's death in the papers. It wasn’t until Unalaq had mentioned that the new Avatar had been found, and that she was his own niece, that the pipe dream became something more. Tangible. Possible. 

There was no question of Ghazan going on this mission. Where Zaheer went, so did he, as he had since he was eleven years old. His best friend, his comrade in arms, for better or worse. Zaheer had shown him a life outside the sands, away from the poverty of the desert and the domination of the clans, and Ghazan would never stop being grateful. And Thi Yen… Well. With Zaheer came her. 

She was older than him, Ghazan thought, a former child soldier from the border between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom. And she was quick, and snarky, and savage. He’d paid her no mind, most of the time. Zaheer was in charge, and it was Zaheer he listened to, not Thi Yen. 

There was a boom in the distance, and a muffled curse, that brought Ghazan out of his thoughts. He pushed the hair from his eyes. P’Li was standing, towering over them in the tiny boat, and his friend was tense beside him. Ghazan followed their gaze and found out why. 

The Fire Lord’s dragon was speeding their way. 

“Ming Hua, faster!” Zaheer snarled.

“I’m going as fast as I can!” she spat. The dragon was still too far away to be hit, but it was gaining, and fast.

“Where’s the fucking ship?” P’Li didn’t take her eyes off the dragon, so Ghazan spun around, searching. He could just make out a faint outline in the distance. They hadn’t been able to risk bringing it closer to shore.

“Can we make it?” That was Zaheer.

“We fucking better,” Ming Hua growled. “I did not bust my ass all night to fail this close to the finish line.” She twisted in her seat, thrust her other arm in the water. P’Li was nearly knocked off her feet with the force.

“No matter what﹣” and Zaheer’s gaze was on him now “﹣get the Avatar on the ship.”

Ghazan grinned, cocky and more sure than he felt. “You got it.”

But when they reached the ship ﹣ miraculously, given the fire blasts bursting from the dragon’s mouth ﹣ they were ambushed. Chief Sokka had Zaheer’s arms twisted behind his back, and Ghazan felt someone grab him roughly from behind. He spun, the rocks he’d hidden in his coat pocket in his hand immediately, one arm holding the Avatar to his chest. Tonraq and several White Lotus members were contending with Ming Hua, bending the water from her arms as soon as she’d gathered it, and P’Li was fighting Fire Lord Zuko and a Kyoshi Warrior. They weren’t giving her enough time to combustionbend, the element of surprise destroying the few moments she needed to pull the fire from her gut and channel it through her third eye. 

He melted his rocks down, shaped them into a shuriken and threw it. The guy who’d grabbed him screamed, throwing up his hands, but he wasn’t an earthbender, and the lava seared right through him. He howled, clutched at his wound, but Ghazan had no time to smirk because suddenly he felt an angry wind at his back. Tenzin ﹣ he had thrown a burst of air at him which Ghazan dodged easily, but too late he realized that hadn’t been the airbender’s intent. He felt the Avatar slip from his grasp, the air propelling her _up,_ cocooned in a ball of wind.

“Fuck!” Ghazan spat, and then he went down, someone sweeping his legs out from under him. His lava shuriken flew over the side of the ship, drowning itself uselessly in the sea, and Ghazan felt someone bodily restrain his hands. Press his face into the deck. He could only watch helplessly as Tenzin retrieved the Avatar, as the White Lotus knocked Ming Hua out with a well-timed chi block, as Zaheer was forcibly restrained. The last to fall was P’Li. 

“You’re finished,” Chief Sokka growled, breathing hard. Zaheer was straining against him, but the chieftain held tight. A Kyoshi Warrior had bound his legs, was working on his hands. She was using thick, coarse rope.

“Give up,” ordered Fire Lord Zuko. Ghazan watched as Tenzin returned the Avatar to her father, the tight grip Tonraq held her in. “You’ve lost the Avatar.”

He closed his eyes, and swore.

* * *

They interrogated each of them separately. From what Ghazan gathered, none of his cohorts had said anything. That was the unspoken rule between them. Never talk. 

Every day, someone visited his cell (platinum, and set far away from the other, more malleable metal cells), shined a light in his face, and tried to make him talk. They were not kind. Ghazan was waterboarded, shocked, and beaten. They tried playing good cop bad cop, and giving him small privileges like sticky buns and coffee, only to rip them away ﹣ sometimes literally right out of his hands. Ghazan ate the food, drank the coffee ﹣ it was free, and it was good ﹣ but he did not talk. 

They wouldn’t understand even if he did.

The Red Lotus had been formed, Zaheer had told him, because of the growing discontent in the world. Once the White Lotus had been righteous and just, a secret society of benders and masters the world over, working together to assure harmony. They had fractured at the end of the Hundred Year War, Zaheer said, their cause mutated and corrupted. They began devoting themselves to the Avatar, serving as his personal guard, and their long, noble history was taught less and less to the new recruits. Xai Bao had hated that, had stood up one day and demanded a return to the old ways. Had spoken passionately in defense for their ancient society, a benevolent society that operated only in shadow. The Avatar was not their concern, he’d said, and never in their history had they so openly moved in the world or trailed in his wake. The other members had told Xai Bao that the world was changing, that the Avatar was more important than ever in maintaining the peace among nations, and that it was their job, their _sacred duty,_ to assist him however they could. The corruption of the Earth Kingdom mattered not, or the unrest between the Water Tribes, the riots in the former Earth Kingdom territory that became Republic City. The Avatar was their beginning and their end. Disgusted, Xai Bao had fled with a group of like-minded supporters. Had created the Red Lotus, returned them to the shadows.

Zaheer had been lucky enough to meet Xai Bao, before he’d passed. 

Ghazan didn’t look up at the sound of footsteps. He didn’t think it worth acknowledging them. He was manacled at his hands and feet, and even if he wanted to bend, the metals in his platinum cell were too few, too weak to move. For once in his life, he wished for the endless desert of his childhood, for the abominable sand he’d been so eager to leave behind. It was coarse and it got everywhere, but at least he could bend it.

The outer door to his cell creaked open. The footsteps stopped at the inner door. No one ever entered the inner door. Even bound, he was too dangerous. There was earth somewhere near this prison, he could _feel_ it, but no matter how he called to it, it did not come to him.

“Are you going to talk today, or did I waste twenty minutes of my life walking down here?” The voice was gruff, but Ghazan knew it. Knew the slight, high-pitched lilt and the anger simmering beneath it. He’d heard it before, several years ago.

Toph Beifong had removed the metal from her uniform, stood only in clean linen and bare feet. A vague thought formed in the back of his mind ﹣ did she always walk barefoot? ﹣ before it was pushed aside. He’d heard she was blind, but she faced him as though she could see. 

He couldn’t help himself. Ming Hua always said he was a cocky bastard. “Well, well, Chief Beifong herself.” His voice was a little hoarse from underuse. He didn’t know how long he’d been down here. “Pleasure to see you again.”

Beifong scowled. “Can’t say the same,” she snapped. 

“No,” he drawled, “I suppose you can’t.”

“Cut the shit.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her frown deepening. “Look. I’ll cut you a nice deal if you tell us why you kidnapped the Avatar.”

“What’s that?” Ghazan chuckled, though it turned into a cough. “A few years less in prison?”

“Something like that.”

“Nah.” He huffed another laugh. “Gonna have to do better than that.” He’d never betray the Red Lotus, but she didn’t need to know that.

She seemed to have expected his answer, and ignored it. “What is the Red Lotus? And what do they want with Korra?”

 _Korra._ So that was the new Avatar’s name. He'd never asked. It fit her, he decided, bringing forth the memory of her small sleepy face. She looked like a Korra.

“Hey!” Beifong banged on the cell door. “This’ll go a lot faster if you fucking open up.”

“You have the keys, chief.” He had tried to assassinate her, a few years ago. It hadn’t been a very good plan in hindsight. Right in the middle of the street in broad daylight. If he squinted, he thought he could see the scar he’d had burned into her arm. That had been a fun day, he recalled. He’d learned his lava could melt through metal.

But Beifong was not a patient woman, and Ghazan knew if he kept at it, she’d get frustrated and stalk off. Or wrench his cell door open and punch him in the face. He wondered if he’d be able to take her, here in this platinum cell.

She blew a puff of air at her bangs, uselessly, as they just fell back in her face. “Fine,” she growled. “Have it your way.” To the White Lotus guards at the outer cell door she snapped, “No meals. Let’s see if hunger loosens his tongue.”

Ghazan had been hungry before. He’d survive. 

Beifong turned to leave, and the guards hurried to open the outer door. But before she stepped through she stopped, her back to him. 

“Is your Red Lotus worth dying for?” she asked. “You’ve already lost so many.”

_They have no idea about us. Our numbers, our names. Nothing._

“Have you heard about your friends?” Beifong went on. “They seem to think the Red Lotus is very important. I think they’d die for it.”

They would. Ghazan knew his friends. 

“What was the name of that other one? The one we didn’t catch?” She wasn’t speaking to him this time but to the guard at the door. And Ghazan tried not to, but in that moment he saw the faintest glimmer of hope. _She made it._

“The firebender with the lightning?” The guard frowned. “I think her name was Thi Yen, ma’am.”

“Thi Yen.” Beifong rolled the syllables in her mouth, tasting them. “Did you hear what happened to her?”

The guard didn’t answer, and Ghazan didn’t know then, didn’t know if the guard knew, who Beifong was addressing now. 

“You don’t want to end up like her,” Beifong told him quietly. “She died for your Red Lotus. She died screaming.” 

All the air left the room. The guard was watching him, his eyes scanning his face because Beifong’s could not. Ghazan kept his face as blank as possible. He didn’t know what the White Lotus knew of Thi Yen. Of him. If he were in a normal cell, a proper metal one with a dirt floor underneath, he would have melted it all to the ground.

And then Beifong was gone, but the guard was still looking, so Ghazan made a show of rolling his eyes and shifting into a more comfortable position. After several minutes, he laid down on his back, the platinum floor cool through the fabric of his tunic. “When’s lunch?” he asked the guard, who snorted, and with a shuffle turned back around. Ghazan stared up at the ceiling, heart pounding. 

They had failed to take Korra, and Thi Yen was dead. 

They’d walked right into a fucking ambush, and Thi Yen was dead.

They were in prison, and Thi Yen was dead. 

He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to be here right now.


	2. Secrets of Weightlessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zaheer makes peace with his mistakes (mostly) in prison, and plots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I condensed thirteen years of prison because otherwise bro, we'd be here all night. Ghazan, Ming Hua, and P'Li's jail time will get the same treatment.

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

_Let go your earthly tether. Enter the void. Empty and become wind._

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

_Let go your earthly tether. Enter the void. Empty and become wind._

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

The truck slowed and came to an abrupt stop. Zaheer heard bickering from outside the confines of the hold. (“Idiot! You missed the turn!” “It’s not my fault you can’t read a map!”) He shut his eyes ﹣ a pointless endeavor, given that he was blindfolded ﹣ and concentrated on his breathing. 

Breathe in. _Let go your earthly tether._

Hold. _Enter the void._

Breathe out. _Empty and become wind._

The words of Guru Laghima had been of little comfort during the eight hour drive. Zaheer kept replaying that night over and over in his head, dissecting every move, every word. Trying to find where they had gone wrong. How they had been tricked, ambushed. How they could have gotten away ﹣ if not with the Avatar, then at least alive. Thi Yen’s death weighed heavily on his mind. 

_“Take the Avatar and go! I’ll hold them off!”_

_The snow swirled around the little group, and Thi Yen had to shout to be heard over the howling wind. She was breathing hard, golden eyes blazing. Her white coat, so carefully chosen to blend into the landscape of the South Pole, was torn, singed, bloody. The seal fur lining the hood was wet, but her face was bare of snowflakes. Her fire had melted it all away._

_Zaheer didn’t think they would see her again._

_“Go in peace.”_

Stupid. _Stupid._

It hadn’t surprised him when his interrogators threw her death in his face. He knew his friend. She had fought until she could no longer stand, and when that wasn’t enough, had summoned cold fire. He’d heard the explosion long before he saw the Fire Lord’s dragon. Knew she was gone, and hopefully taken some of their pursuers with her.

It wasn’t any easier with Thi Yen than it had been with anyone else. Zaheer inhaled a great breath and held it, held it until his lungs burned. And exhaled. 

The first time had been when he was twelve. He and Thi Yen and Ghazan, no more than children, and Chu. Chu had been Ghazan’s earthbending teacher, when they had time. He’d always had trouble, at first, with solid earth. Always found it easier to manipulate grains of sand than real earth, said the sand flowed more easily. Chu hadn’t gone easy on him, and Zaheer and Thi Yen would watch with grins from ear to ear as the older man flung pebbles and boulders with abandon. _There is no “starting small,”_ he used to say. _You’re either an earthbender or you’re not. Sand doesn’t count, kid._ Ghazan often went to bed bruised and bloody, but he had learned. Soon he was hurling chunks of rock, creating waves of earth that rolled like the waves of the sea. 

Chu had drowned in the sea, and that had been Zaheer’s fault too. 

He jumped as he heard banging on the side of his hold. They did that to unnerve him, he thought and, frowning, Zaheer took another breath.

The back of the truck opened, flooding the hold with light even he could discern through his blindfold. “Wakey wakey, Zaheer,” called his guard, and instinctively, he clenched his fists. They were bound so tightly he couldn’t move, but he did it anyway. It helped him feel in control. 

Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

“I’m awake,” he said mildly. 

He heard the clomp of boots as the guard clambered into the truck. Felt the bite of the leather as one planted itself in his side, and though he’d braced for it, it still hurt. He grit his teeth but said nothing. The White Lotus had tried hard to break him, and he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out.

If he hadn’t had to piss before, he certainly did now.

“What are you doing?!” came a new voice, one of alarm. Zaheer thought he’d heard it before.

“Pretty sure Ling just kicked him.” And this one was familiar. Toph Beifong. What was she doing here? Had they taken him back to Republic City?

No. As the chains binding his hands and feet to the floor were undone, he didn’t hear the bustle of the city. Didn’t smell smog and too many bodies. 

“There’s no need for that!” The voice was closer now, probably at the mouth of the hold. The guard, Ling, yanked him up roughly.

“You don’t know this one, Tenzin,” he grumbled. “Subdue him early, I say.” Ah, Tenzin. Avatar Aang’s son. Zaheer remembered him. He carried himself very stiffly; Ming Hua would have said he ‘had a stick up his ass.’ She probably had, now that Zaheer thought about it.

“He’s already bound!” Tenzin protested. 

“He killed two people while _already bound,”_ Beifong deadpanned. “Watch yourself, Fancy Pants.”

There was an exasperated sigh somewhere on Zaheer’s left, and he felt a hand on his arm. “Aunt Toph, _please._ ” And then, “Watch your step.” It was a large, jarring step to the ground, and the chain connecting his leg manacles only just allowed him to make it. 

The ground beneath his feet wasn’t made of cobblestones, either. Zaheer thought it might be earth. Definitely not Republic City.

“Master Tenzin! You shouldn’t touch him!” Ling clapped a hand to his shoulder as he exited the truck after him, and another guard appeared on his right.

“I’m well aware of what he’s capable of,” Tenzin said sternly. “Thank you, Ling.” There was a rustle of fabric and the sharp, woody smell of sandalwood. Roughspun cotton brushed Zaheer’s cheek as Tenzin reached behind him and untied his blindfold.

“Thank you,” Zaheer murmured. It was bright behind his naked eyelids, and he was careful to open his eyes slowly. Being in darkness for the better part of a day had done his eyesight no favors ﹣ everything was bright and out of focus. 

“You can explain to your mother why you’re dead then, Fancy Pants,” Toph grumbled. “I’m certainly not going to do it.”

 _Fancy Pants. That’s funny._ Zaheer allowed himself the smallest of smiles. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe he could pull off an escape after eight hours chained to the floor of a darkened truck hold. Even if he knew where he was… He tried to memorize what he saw out of the corner of his eyes. A few sparse trees, sheer whiterock cliffs. Nothing discernable. Nothing _memorable._

It was better to wait. Everyone was on high alert right now. They expected him to make a bid for freedom. The muscles of the guards at his side were tense, and even Tenzin looked stiffer than usual. Perhaps in a few weeks, when they had all relaxed. He would wait, and listen. Someone was bound to let something slip. He would observe his guards, his surroundings, and when the time was right, he would escape.

“Welcome to your new home, Zaheer,” said the guard at his right, shoving him forward. A cell stood before them. Ten feet square, carved from the very earth he stood on. Bars lined one side, the one with the door, and two more White Lotus guards stood at attention on either side. Beifong kicked the door open, digging her toes into the earth ﹣ Zaheer noted vaguely her shoes had no soles ﹣ and the guards frogmarched him into the cell. One secured him to the far wall.

“Hang on,” Beifong warned, after the door clanged shut. A rude joke, given that there wasn’t anything to _hang on_ to, but Zaheer was given no time to ponder the request. Stomping her foot to the ground and widening her stance, Beifong cut a swath of earth from the ground around them, and with a sharp upward sweep of her arms they were _soaring._ One of the White Lotus yelped in surprise; Beifong never wavered. Soon the trees disappeared from view, and Zaheer saw only the tops of the nearby cliffs, a mountain in the distance. 

They were truly in the middle of nowhere.

With a flick of her wrists, Beifong unclasped his manacles, the chains flying through the air into her waiting hand. Zaheer rubbed his own wrist, sore and stiff from confinement. 

“Someone will relieve you in three weeks,” Tenzin instructed the White Lotus, “and you’ll retrieve the day’s food from the discussed location. I’ll send someone by tonight with your dinners.”

The guards at the door bowed. “Thank you, Master Tenzin,” one said.

“Thank _you,_ for taking on this daunting task. The Avatar must be kept safe from people like Zaheer.” His eyes flashed over momentarily but Zaheer was pretending not to listen. He stood at the wall where he’d been left, eyes surveying the cell. There was a sleeping roll in one corner, jostled from the impromptu ride into the sky. A bucket sat opposite, presumably for a toilet. There were no other furnishings. 

“Safe trip, gentlemen, Chief Beifong,” he called over his shoulder. He could feel Beifong’s frown, her milky eyes glaring in his direction, but she said nothing. A puff of air whistled through his cell bars and when he finally turned, he was alone with his two guards. Beifong and the others seemed to have traveled back to the ground with the airbender’s wind.

What a dreary, dismal little jail cell, Zaheer thought. Well. As a non-bender, it was probably first rate. He didn’t want to think of the sort of cells his friends had been taken to. 

His remaining guards were watching him warily, but Zaheer ignored them. He wandered over to the bucket, a little shaky after so long curled on the floor, and voided his bladder. _That_ was almost heavenly, his swollen bladder aching after the truck ride and Ling’s kick. He tucked himself away, frowning.

“I don’t suppose I could get some water?” he wondered aloud. “It’s good hygiene to wash one’s hands after relieving oneself.” 

His guards shared a look. He didn’t know these two, the one of the left tall but stocky and the one on the right lithe, with a nose that looked to have been broken at least twice. 

“You’ll get water at dinner,” said the tall one. Zaheer frowned, but said nothing, wrinkling his nose and wiping his hands on his pants. The key to a successful escape, he’d learned, was to appear complacent early. It put the jailers at ease, made them relax and doubt the abilities of their captive. He made a note to set aside some water at meal times for washing.

He stretched, wincing a bit as his cramped limbs screamed in protest. His joints popped, and that felt nearly as good as pissing had. He straightened his back, and then fell forward to grab his toes. 

“What are you doing?” the man with the broken nose snapped.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but it was a long ride,” Zaheer explained. “Feels good to finally move.”

The man raised an eyebrow. Like Zaheer, it bore a large slash through it. He had probably been in just as many fights, as well. “Well don’t get any ideas,” he griped. “Stay away from the bars.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” the chi blocker said agreeably. “The wind up here will make it very cold.” 

And with nothing else to do, Zaheer sat on the dirt floor, legs crossed in the lotus position, and meditated.

* * *

_“Boy, come here.”_

_Zaheer stepped forward. He was sixteen years old, and certainly no boy._

_“What you did today was reckless. You could have jeopardized the entire mission.”_

_He knew it. But Xin Fang was dead, and that girl was safe. “I couldn’t leave her. What he did to her… She deserved to be free.” She was even now sleeping in one of the caves of their hideout. When he’d left, she’d been crying quietly in Thi Yen’s lap while the older girl stroked her hair. Ghazan had nodded at him, promising to stand guard until he returned._

_Wise eyes regarded him shrewdly. “Your life for the Red Lotus. Not for childish sidequests.”_

_“My apologies, master. But I disagree. Saving the girl was not childish,” Zaheer argued. “If we do not take her in, someone else will. She’s a powerful bender. Someone worse than Xin Fang will want to use her too. Imagine her in the hands of the Earth Queen.”_

_The old man considered this. It was true, that the girl had been a hastily tacked on addition to the assassination of Xin Fang. That had been their mission, not her. But Zaheer was nothing if not quick on his feet, and it hadn’t been too difficult a detour to break her out of the warlord’s dungeon in the chaos._

_“You have a good heart, boy. See that it does not lead you astray.”_

_Zaheer put his palms together and bowed. “Thank you, Master Xai Bao.”_

  
  


_The Red Lotus sometimes used the cave system of the Wutai Mountains as a safe house. It worked well enough, for short stays, though there was always the lurking insecurity of bandits and fugitives. They never stayed for long._

_The sobbing he had left behind was absent as he ducked into the little hovel, and for a moment Zaheer was concerned the girl had run off. But no, she was curled on her side towards the back where he’d left her, and someone had covered her with a blanket. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red, and a lock of hair had fallen over her forehead, obscuring the tattoo at her sixth chakra. She looked exhausted._

_Thi Yen and Ghazan looked no better, sitting quietly by the fire. Ghazan was cooking, and Thi Yen kept sneaking looks over her shoulder at the girl’s sleeping form._

_“Welcome back,” Ghazan said gruffly. Zaheer dropped down beside him and took both the chopsticks and the frying pan._

_“I’d like to eat more than char tonight,” he muttered._

_“I’m getting better!” his friend said defensively._

_“You are not,” Zaheer refuted. “You butchered the fish last week.”_

_“That was fish!” Ghazan protested. “What would a desert kid know about fish?”_

_“Nothing, apparently.”_

_Thi Yen shushed them. “Idiots. You’ll wake her.” She shot another look at the girl, who did not stir._

_“She finally calm down?” Zaheer whispered. He checked the underside of the catdeer in the pan and turned it over. Predictably, it was a little too dark._

_Ghazan nodded. “Yeah. She was pretty shook up. Good call, buddy.”_

_“Yao doesn’t think so.” Zaheer frowned into the fire._

_“Yao’s an idiot. He doesn’t see the human cost.”_

_“You did the right thing,” Thi Yen assured him. She reached behind her head and pulled the tie from her disheveled hair. Her long braid unfolded and she began the meticulous task of unbraiding it, fingercombing through the snags. Zaheer had never seen anyone who took such pains with their hair._

_His own could use a wash, actually. His everything could use a wash, if he were honest._

_“Name’s Puh Lee,” Ghazan supplied, unprompted. “I think. I dunno, at one point she was only audible to catgators. Ow!” He clutched his arm where Thi Yen had hit him._

_Thi Yen glared at him and pulled her hand back, resumed her combing. “Don’t make fun,” she scolded. “She’s been through a lot.”_

_“I wasn’t making fun! I’m just saying, her voice was too high for any human to_ ﹣ _will you stop hitting me?!”_

_Thi Yen flicked her hair over her shoulder, and that hit Ghazan too._

  
  


Zaheer scrubbed a hand over his eyes. He hadn’t dreamed ﹣ hadn’t _thought about_ ﹣ P’Li’s rescue in a long time. She had looked so lost, eyes wide and scared, her lip between her teeth as Xin Fang’s orders washed over her. He couldn’t kill that girl. She wasn’t like Xin Fang, didn’t want power, didn’t want to hurt people. She had come willingly, and when given the choice, stayed. Joined the Red Lotus, to keep people like Xin Fang from exploiting people like her ever again. 

_Fuck,_ he missed her.

It was taking longer than he’d thought to get out of here. The weeks had become months. Zaheer had heard the White Lotus, during the last shift change, talking about the death of one of their own in a high security prison in the Fire Nation. The White Lotus didn’t frequent many prisons, he knew. That death could only have been carried out by Ming Hua. He wondered who’d been stupid enough to give her water. 

It was easier sometimes, thinking like that. Not _Ming Hua had almost broken free._

He wondered how Ghazan and P’Li were doing. 

He spent a lot of time meditating, and when he wasn’t doing that, he slept, or trained. He probably shouldn’t have kept an exercise regime, but there wasn’t a lot to do in his sky prison and his jailers refused to speak to him. They let him exercise, most of the time. Always with a warning to stay away from the bars. 

They were too highly strung to attempt a break out. He would wait. 

* * *

Zaheer spent a lot of time in the spirit world.

Ghazan had always made fun of him. _Just because your grandmother was an Air Acolyte doesn’t make you spiritual, bud._ And _let me know if they have bathrooms in the spirit world. I’m not going anywhere I can’t take a piss._ Zaheer didn’t think Ghazan believed humans could travel between worlds. _You’re not the Avatar, Zaheer. C’mon now._

And oh, how he had tried. Countless hours as a boy, only to be interrupted by a cuff on the ear from Ghazan, pulled away by Thi Yen, distracted by P’Li…

Yeah, P’Li was a pretty good distraction.

Even training with Master Xai Bao hadn’t helped. _Something is blocking your way, boy._

The first time he’d opened his eyes and seen the technicolor dreamscape, he whooped aloud. Punched the air and danced like a fool. _Fuck_ Ghazan, he’d actually done it! The spirit world was filled with tall flowering plants and strange, fantastic creatures. He’d spent an entire day just walking around, talking to everyone and everything he saw. The frogspheres were friendly and invited him to tea. The moleweasels were not and chased him away from their burrows. 

Ghazan hadn’t believed him when he’d come back to himself. _No way, man. You just fell asleep._ But Thi Yen and P’Li had been floored by the revelation, and he’d spent all night describing what he’d seen. Sometimes he thought Ghazan was jealous ﹣ the man wasn’t spiritual, and Zaheer would bet his right nipple his friend wouldn’t be able to get into the other world even if a spirit carried him there himself. He enjoyed teasing Ghazan right back until he stomped away, muttering about _lucid dreams_ and _drinking too much there, buddy._

He knew the spirit world shouldn’t be used as an escape from reality. It was a holy place, and it was his duty to speak to the spirits, to learn their ways in the hopes of one day, somehow, being the driving force that united the two worlds once more. But he couldn’t help it. In the spirit world, he was free. He wasn’t confined to a ten square foot cell. He could feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair, and the strange foods the spirits offered him ﹣ though obviously not nutritionally valuable to his physical body ﹣ were bliss compared to the plain bread and overcooked meat the White Lotus supplied him with. 

Regrettably, the spirit world did not have bathrooms. If they had, Zaheer didn’t think he’d ever leave.

* * *

He dreamt a lot, now that he was in prison. He hadn’t ever been a big dreamer, really. 

He dreamt of P’Li, of her long, beautiful legs and slender, skilled fingers. They would go to the spirit world, where he would show her all his favorite places and they would make love under the lavender sky. 

He dreamt of Ghazan and Ming Hua, of the day his friend recruited the waterbender and the large, wet mark she’d slapped into his face. They sat around any number of campfires in any number of places, he and Ghazan, Ming Hua, P’Li and Thi Yen. Teasing Ghazan for his cooking, watching Thi Yen teach P’Li to braid her hair. Ming Hua creating an ice sickle with her water arm and cutting his hair when it got too long, tsking at the split ends and tilting his head back to shave the stubble from his face. She’d always been so careful, gentle, for a woman who couldn’t feel what she was doing. 

He saw the sand dribble from Ghazan’s fingers, the furrow of his eyebrows and the turned down corners of his mouth. Remembered hearing about a boy who created glass out of air and tracking him down to the oasis. The shards that glinted in his fists, and how he’d thrown them with ridiculous accuracy. The first time they met, all those years ago as boys, Ghazan had thought Zaheer was stealing from his caravan, had sliced Zaheer with the glass he’d created _from the sand._

He saw Thi Yen and her long chestnut hair, watched her comb it out before going to sleep. She’d been furious when he’d broken her comb, dark and shiny and smelling of sandalwood, the only thing of value she’d kept from her old life. Saw Ghazan stop at the stall where he’d used the last bit of money to buy a comb with a carved ivory handle. He’d made Zaheer give it to her, and when Yao demanded an explanation for their empty coin purses, just shrugged. Said it was _cost of living, bud._

Yao. 

Not all of Zaheer’s dreams were good. He had nightmares, had for years, but prison exacerbated them. Yao, burned alive in the sandbender raid that killed Ghazan’s sister. Chu slipping beneath the waves. Ghazan, bleeding and broken in jail after the hasty attempt on Toph Beifong’s life. Meiling, stabbed clean through. 

He dreamt of the people they’d lost ﹣ Yao and Chu and Meiling and Thi Yen ﹣ swarming him, demanding to know why he’d left them to die. Why he’d sacrificed them for the Red Lotus. Why he didn’t consider them important enough to save. He’d wake from these dreams and meditate all morning, breathing like Master Xai Bao had taught him. Telling himself it was just a dream and they knew the risks and it wasn’t his fault but it was. He accepted that about himself, accepted that in the past he had led recklessly. Had not planned well enough. His goal had always been to carry out his missions and he had, but he should have been better. He should have made sure they’d all get out alive. 

He would be better next time. When he was free, he would be better. No mourners, no funerals, and no more deaths. 

* * *

He’d lost track of the years. Or maybe he hadn’t been counting to begin with. Every time he saw an opening, he stopped himself. _Not yet. It’s not time._

Some of the White Lotus weren’t awful. He looked forward to the weeks Seng was on duty. Seng was kinder than most of his guards. He gave Zaheer extra water at meals to wash his hands and sometimes would bring him old newspapers. Nothing interesting or important or course ﹣ Zaheer was still a dangerous criminal after all ﹣ but the little comics page or the sports section. Zaheer decided he would probably dislike pro-bending as he did all organized sports, but he also decided that he liked the White Falls Wolfbats. For one, they were named after the fierce wolfbat, an animal who had once shat right on Ming Hua’s face and given them all a good laugh; and for another, they were ruthless. Zaheer liked it. He thought, perhaps, they were a glimpse of what could have happened to him, Ghazan, and Thi Yen, had they not joined the Red Lotus. Sometimes he dreamt the three of them were probenders, dominating the field and only metaphorically slaughtering everyone in their way. Those were nice dreams. 

“How are the Boar-q-pines?” Zaheer asked after shift change. Seng was a sports fan, and disliked the rules banning radio while on duty. He was always itching to gush about the latest pro-bending match. 

Seng scowled. “Don’t even say their name to me,” he grumbled. He made a shooing motion at Zaheer, who complied and backed up, turned around, faced the wall. He placed his hands against the stone, in full view. Seng crouched down with his tray, slid it through the slot. “You’ll see,” he said. “I got you a few papers this time.” The slot slammed closed and locked, and Zaheer turned back around. 

“Much obliged.” He stepped towards the front of his cell only long enough to pick up his tray. Today’s meal was rice and a bit of something he thought might be fish, sitting in a bowl atop a crinkled newspaper. The name _REPUBLIC CITY TIMES_ screamed at him from the top of the page. “I take it they played your Platypus Bears?” The Pinnacle Palace Platypus Bears were Seng’s favorite team. 

The guard groaned. “ _Yessss_. We got massacred,” he moaned. Zaheer chuckled. 

His colleague shot him an odd look. “Why do you do that?” she asked. “He’s a criminal.”

“Oh come on, Byung-Hee. It’s just sports.” Seng frowned. “What harm could trashing the Boar-q-pines do?”

“Fuck the Boar-q-pines,” Zaheer quipped, popping a piece of fish into his mouth. He wasn’t allowed chopsticks, so he made do with his hands. 

“Yeah! _Fuck_ the Boar-q-pines!” Seng exclaimed. “See? No one who hates the Boar-q-pines is _totally_ evil, Byung-Hee.” 

Byung-Hee rolled her eyes and muttered what sounded like _men._ “At least make sure those papers are properly looked over before you give him any.”

“Yeah yeah.” Seng pulled out a strip of moose lion jerky and tore off a piece, offering it to her. “This ain’t my first guard job.”

Zaheer liked Seng. And as far guards went, Byung-Hee wasn’t terrible. A little stern, but that was to be expected. Her father was some official in Ba Sing Se. Probably an official the Red Lotus would target, if he weren’t in prison. 

He hadn’t heard much about the organization lately. Most of them were smart enough to go underground, disappear. Some, like Unalaq, went straight. From what he’d been told, Unalaq had sworn that the Red Lotus had threatened his children if he didn’t lead them to the Avatar. Zaheer had been angry, once upon a time, but it didn’t matter anymore. What’s done was done. The papers he sometimes got from Seng told him little ﹣ he gathered that Ba Sing Se and Black Quarry were in a time of prosperity, given the spending on their respective pro-bending teams, and that Republic City was not, for the same reason ﹣ but he didn’t need Seng, or any of the other members of the White Lotus. Not when he could go into the spirit world. 

The spirits weren’t always useful themselves. The less powerful ones, the ones who couldn’t pierce the veil between worlds, didn’t know about the human world, though some were eager to talk his ear off anyway. No, when he needed information, he went to Xai Bao’s Grove and spoke to Aiwei. 

Aiwei was a sleeper agent, and both a feared and respected member of the community. His seismic sense made him invaluable to the organization, and after Zaheer’s capture, he had integrated himself into Zaofu and the Metal Clan. It was, perhaps, the most important place he could be, after Air Temple Island or the Republic City council. Its leader was a Beifong and as such, she was privy to all the goings on the world over. There was no secret in Zaofu that Aiwei did not know, and Aiwei’s knowledge became Zaheer’s. 

With Aiwei whispering in his ear in the spirit world, Zaheer bided his time, and plotted his escape. 

* * *

Harmonic Convergence. A supernatural phenomenon occurring every ten thousand years, where the spirit portals at the poles open for several brief hours, and the fate of the world is decided by the spirits of light and darkness. It was the stuff of legend.

And it was all true. 

Zaheer didn’t need Aiwei to tell him about Harmonic Convergence. He didn’t need his spirit friends to recount in glorious detail the battle between Unalaq and the Avatar and the tearing down of the walls between the two worlds. He didn’t need it because he could _feel it._ _Something_ hummed in his veins, made his blood sing. He felt alive with spiritual energy in a way he hadn’t in years. In the dark of his cell, late at night, he threw out his hand and threw _air_ at the wall. 

Oh, _yes. This_ was what he had been waiting for. 

  
  


Streaks of orange were beginning to color the sky when they told him to face the wall. Zaheer waited for the click of the lock in the little slot. 

“Have you ever read the poetry of the great airbending guru, Laghima?” 

There was a pause. “What?” The guard’s name was Dau, and Zaheer wasn’t sure he knew how to read. He probably thought Zaheer was mocking him. 

“Guru Laghima,” Zaheer said patiently, “lived four thousand years ago in the Northern Air Temple. It is said that he unlocked the secrets of weightlessness and became untethered to the earth, living his last forty years without ever touching the ground.” 

He heard a snort. “Yeah? That how you plan to escape, Zaheer? With something you picked up from an old airbenders’ children’s story?”

Zaheer was glad it wasn’t Seng on duty. He might have felt bad, in the face of Seng’s small kindnesses.

“Like all great children’s stories, it contains truth within the myth. Guru Laghima once wrote, _Instinct is a lie, told by a fearful body, hoping to be wrong.”_

He imagined in the momentary silence Dau exchanging a confused look with his colleague. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Zaheer kept his face blank. He had learned long ago that smiling, no matter how slight, added a tone to his voice that could give him away. “It means, that when you base your expectations only on what you see, you blind yourself to the possibilities of a new reality.” 

He told himself that he would count to five. He only made it to three.

Zaheer spun and flung his arm forward, the move practiced a hundred times over in the spirit world, except this time there was _air_ behind it. The tray of food clattered the floor. Dau, unsteady in the shock, wasn’t ready when Zaheer yanked the air back. Didn’t have the wherewithal to fight him off as Zaheer thrust his arm through the bars and around the man’s neck. Zaheer had moved so quickly he’d pulled the gasp from the man’s throat, and Dau was breathing hard against the bars. 

“Dau!” 

Two of the guards were firebenders, Zaheer knew, and he’d planned for that. That was what Dau was for. 

“Ah, ah, ah.” He grinned, greasy hair falling into his eyes. “You wouldn’t want to singe your friend, would you?”

“H-how?” Dau gasped. “You’re not a bender!” His pulse throbbed wildly beneath Zaheer’s skin. 

“Nature is constantly changing,” he told them, eyeing each jailer carefully. “Like the wind!” And at his final word, he yanked the keys from Dau’s belt and jammed one into his cell door’s lock, using that same hand to harness that very wind and pull the man behind him into the cell. With Dau out of the way, the others were quick to react. Zaheer dashed out, dodging the fire they tossed at him, using his new command of the winds to boost him out of harm’s way. He seized one man and threw him bodily into the cell with Dau. With a sweep of his leg, he knocked down the other firebender and the earthbender. The firebender nearly caught him, but Zaheer scaled the wall of his cell and flipped, landing behind them all, and with a grunt, blasted them all into a heap. Dau was struggling to regain his feet, but Zaheer was quicker. He was at the door in an instant, turning the key in the lock and wrenching hard to the left. The teeth broke off, and he tossed the useless key head over the side of the cliff. They’d need a metalbender to get out, and he doubted the earthbender was up to snuff. 

“Now you might want to ration that bowl of rice,” he warned, gesturing to the spilled food. “You’ve got three weeks until the next shift change.” 

“Get off me!” Dau howled, shoving at his colleagues, face red with anger. 

Zaheer inhaled deeply. Exhaled. The wind on his face, unimpeded by the bars of his cell, was intoxicating. “It’s the dawning of a new age, gentleman,” he told them. “The end of the White Lotus. And the end of the Avatar.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. I feel like TLOK didn't do the greatest job of humanizing the enemy the way ATLA did. For the Red Lotus, they did a much better job at making them likable, to the detriment of the White Lotus. Like, you're telling me not one White Lotus member was even decent to any RL members for thirteen years? Really? Seng is based on those ATLA villains who had human moments, because otherwise, well... the White Lotus is trash, amirite?

**Author's Note:**

> I knew this had to start at the beginning, the night they kidnapped baby Korra. I had originally intended to start with Zaheer, and go in order of how they were all introduced but... goddamn, I love Ghazan, so he gets to start. Leave me a comment and let me know what you think!


End file.
